Englisc Léoþwíse

[James]

æðelcyning cargealdor



Dæg éad bæc þissa bócæceras, æfreda be dimness ond áglæc
æðelcyning ídel swiltee, ábifian forecyme béo hé æt éðel ond heofoncandel

Today happiness departs these lands, taken by darkness and grief
The King no longer lives, carried forth was he to spirits and stars
Once so brave, once so wise
He ruled the lands of farms, he ruled the fair homes of people
Cut down in a storm of spears, killed by raining arrows
O cursed gods why did he deserve it? O cursed gods why thy cast thy verdict?
No longer does his wisdom extend, lost forever from greenness and blue
Justice was known to all the land, just were the treatment for all
He was no ordinary king, oft he would thrive for greatness
Others bent their knees to him, broken and beaten by his sword-wit
But no more shall they do so, the barrows untimely take his body
O what despair shall fall to these lands? O when will time lend its hand?
The King no longer lives, carried forth was he to spirits and stars
Today happiness departs these lands, taken by darkness and grief

æðelcyning ídel swiltee, ábifian forecyme béo hé æt éðel ond heofoncandel
Dæg éad bæc þissa bócæceras, æfreda be dimness ond áglæc

[James]

... The Old English parts would probably make Bede cry, but he's venerable so... he might be all cool with it?

[James]

The West's Farewell



Where now is the ship and the captain? where is the navy that was once strong?
Where is the army and the adventure and the thin red line stretching long?
Where is the pen on the parchment-bound, and the Union Jack that was flown?
Where is the industries and the workers and the inventions that were grown?
They have passed like snow upon the streets, like a mist across the Somme;
The days have gone down in the West, its power is gone.

-Inspiration and credit to the Wanderer and Tolkien's adaptation.

[James]

angles fær


Goddess-curls ride beneath our ships, grinding the courage from our souls
The sun does not shine upon us, strapped hidden above the clouds
Our own lands slipped from sight, lost between the arrow-water
Broken and flooded and tormented by war, best years long passed
We seek to find a new land; we hope to find bountiful pastures
Wit ásce ábeþecian edníwe æht; wit anbid ábeþecian rúmgiefa tunland
Tales were spun about a not faraway island, straining with beautiful sights
Its people are in despair, its leaders lost in an Empire’s last gasps
They will offer us no fight, fraught with fear and fright
Sheep-skin garbed and unarmed, great will be their lost
Not barren is their land, bright will be our rewards
We seek to find a new land; we will not be stopped by all.
Wit ásce ábeþecian edníwe æht; wit wil ne sigeléase rice

[athelstan]

Nov 13, 2010 3:57:35 GMT -5 James said:

angles fær


Goddess-curls ride beneath our ships, grinding the courage from our souls
The sun does not shine upon us, strapped hidden above the clouds
Our own lands slipped from sight, lost between the arrow-water
Broken and flooded and tormented by war, best years long passed
We seek to find a new land; we hope to find bountiful pastures
Wit ásce ábeþecian edníwe æht; wit anbid ábeþecian rúmgiefa tunland
Tales were spun about a not faraway island, straining with beautiful sights
Its people are in despair, its leaders lost in an Empire’s last gasps
They will offer us no fight, fraught with fear and fright
Sheep-skin garbed and unarmed, great will be their lost
Not barren is their land, bright will be our rewards
We seek to find a new land; we will not be stopped by all.
Wit ásce ábeþecian edníwe æht; wit wil ne sigeléase rice

Aha. I noticed kennings, alliteration, and the emphasis of manly virtues. Beowulf would be one of your favorites, I assume.

I've always contemplated writing something from the perspective of the pre-Christian Germanics, but never really got the tone. I don't think I quite have the same soul-feeling as they had. But you capture it brilliantly. The fierce, combative tones of these Angles and Saxons is just brilliant. I can almost imagine them garbed in chain mail bright with rings shining upon their kingly fingers, their helms turned to regard the white walls of Albion as they ready themselves for the fierce celebration of Tiw.

... excellent work, gebróðor.

[James]

As, I think my sole fellow fan of Anglo-Saxon culture, thank you very much for the kind words. And, I've found that it's not so much capturing the tone, but the actual format and techniques of the poem itself is the hard part. I found myself mentally drained trying to ensure the alliteration on the correct syllables and the flow of the poem. I think it's why I haven't written much of the stuff so far, but hopefully I'll get around to some more at a later point.

Thanks for the comments.